


Quality Time

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The death of an agent affects everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quality Time

Peter Trevors's leaving party depressed everyone in CI5 who felt obliged to attend it because he provided a visible, too-stark reminder of the fate that could await any of them. Pale and still a stone underweight, Trevors's determinedly cheery manner failed to disguise the fact he had no idea what he would be doing when he retired from the squad. A thirty-seven-year-old pensioner had poor career prospects in their line of work and few of his skills were socially acceptable.

Eager to demonstrate what a good time they were having, squad members had to battle against the odds. While no reference was made to the agent killed in the same operation in which Trevors had been injured, her absence created a void which no amount of assumed bonhomie could fill. Peter and Judy had been partnered for almost six years and had been one of CI5's most senior teams; they had been due to stand down from active duty in the autumn.

It would take more than seven weeks to forget Judy Halliwell.

Cowley made his obligatory appearance at the party, considerately leaving just after nine-thirty, before many people had even arrived. Because this was strictly a CI5 affair and more wake than party, agents and support staff did not bring their other halves - presuming they were lucky enough to have one.

Only the conscience Bodie pretended not to possess led him to attend the party in the first place and he intended to leave as soon as he decently could. Having endured the ritual jokey conversation with his host, he took his drink to a secluded corner and actively discouraged anyone foolish enough to engage him in conversation. It was disconcerting to feel so lonely while hemmed in by familiar faces.

Sitting behind the screen provided by a mixture of dangling feathery tendrils of green drooping from a plant on a high shelf and large shiny leaves shooting up from a pot-bound tree at his feet, Bodie watched the dimly-lit figures group and regroup as if they were strangers to him. In many ways that was true. Saving someone's life, or buying them a pint, didn't make you blood-brothers - or even friends.

Despite the wide-flung windows the flat felt airless on this humid August night; the atmosphere was thick with smoke from Anson's cigar, Lucas's cigarettes, the uneasy blend of beer, wine and whisky, and the scent of too many bodies collected in too small a space. The claustrophobic feel of the place was not helped by the obtrusive over-abundance of plant life, which seemed to sprout from every available space and surface. Bodie presumed the plants to be the survivors of gifts brought by well-intentioned hospital visitors; he could not imagine Trevors acquiring them voluntarily. Then he remembered - Judy had loved house-plants; her flat had been full of them. Wriggling back so he could take advantage of the support offered by the wall, he carefully moved a green shoot out of the way in case it should get bruised.

Another couple arrived just after eleven; they were greeted by an abrupt silence before male voices swelled. In contravention of the unwritten rule Doyle had brought an outsider with him. A luscious six-foot redhead with a an accent to die for, she was as far removed from Doyle's usual choice of girlfriend as it was possible to get. Undeceived by his partner's spectacular entrance, Bodie was not surprised when Doyle proceeded to ignore Annabel - with predictable consequences.

Bodie watched the hectic competition to win her favour with no more than a detached interest. Tonight it all seemed too much effort. Give him an air hostess any day - or a steward.

Wondering where that wayward thought had popped up from, he gave his warming lager a look of reproach. That was what came of drinking gnat's piss, he thought with disgust. Emptying his glass into the plant pot beside him, he reached for the hip flask he'd had the forethought to bring with him. It was preferable to leaving his hideaway for a decent drink and risk being sucked into the jollity. Savouring each mouthful of brandy, concentrating on quality rather than quantity, Bodie's attention returned to the events taking place across the room.

After some fierce competition from Jax and McCabe, Anson disappeared with the gorgeous Annabel just after midnight. Busy trying too hard to be the life and soul of the party, Doyle gave no sign of noticing.

By now the party had became a jungle of predatory eyes and thinly-veiled desperation, the air of frenetic urgency having increased after the witching hour. Judy Halliwell's ghost haunted everyone, Trevors's bright blue eyes seeming to reflect his partner's image to those experiencing survivor guilt. This morning no one wanted to have to go home alone. Newly formed pairings drifted smugly away while the competition for the few available - and interested - women that remained was intense.

By now the music was a barely audible bass line beneath the too bright voices. Snatches of conversation which drifted over to Bodie confirmed his worst suspicions; taking another swig from his hip flask, he edged deeper into his green haven when the dancing resumed.

Through a gap in the crowd he saw a familiar back. Doyle was busy chatting up one of the secretaries who was too new to be wary of him. Masculinity enhanced by his choice of outfit, Doyle wore a white shirt of the finest, softest cotton, green moleskins and white ankle boots; few other men could have made the silver bangle and necklace he wore with such style seem like natural accessories. The room was uncomfortably warm by the time Doyle left the dance floor and his shirt clung damply to his shoulders, emphasising the play of sinew and muscle; his beautiful hands gestured expansively as he bent to the girl, murmuring something in her ear.

Recognising the signs, Bodie's mouth twisted. Ray was hot to trot tonight. Feverishly sociable, he was broadcasting a heady cocktail of adrenalin and sexual frustration. It was small wonder Annabel had opted for the easier option of Anson; she obviously possessed a healthy instinct for self-preservation. The angry glitter in Doyle's eyes and the brittle, cutting edge of his voice meant that those who knew him best were giving him a wide berth. Sexual tension crackled round him like static, calling to Bodie in a siren song of the forbidden.

But it was tempting.

Experienced in Doyle-watching, Bodie could think of no one else capable of matching his partner while Doyle was in this mood, let alone anyone capable of controlling him.

Controlling Ray Doyle...

It was a dangerously enticing thought and Bodie felt reckless enough to allow it full rein.

It was not a new thought.

While he had all but drained his hip flask by this time, Bodie was far from being incapable - just mellow enough to be in the mood to indulge himself. And who better than with his partner, he rationalised, tucking his flask away when he saw Doyle seek out Trevors before leaving.

Bodie slipped out into the early morning air after him, surprised that none of Trevors's neighbours had complained about the level of noise spilling into the quiet residential street. Doyle was already some way down the long, straight road.

Hunting in earnest by this time, Bodie made no attempt to catch up with him. It was a pleasure to allow the anticipation to build. Somewhere a cat hissed, another replying with a hoarse yowl before the unmistakable sounds of confrontation split the air. Bodie gave a brief, cold smile. To the victor the spoils.

He would plunder Doyle any time. This morning, if all went according to plan. He was not interested in thinking beyond that. Trevors and Judy had waited and look where it had got them.

 

His jacket slung over one shoulder, Doyle maintained an effortlessly fast pace during his three- mile walk home, his boot heels measuring out his stride and that of the man following him.

Tonight he had finally succeeded in luring Bodie out into the open. Excitement pricked his nerve-endings, further sensitising already sensitive areas.

Opening the wrought iron gate which protected the weed-clumped concrete that passed for a front garden, Doyle strode up the narrow path which led to the detached Edwardian house which had been sub-divided into flats. Climbing the eight worn steps to the main door, he took his time to find his keys, turning only when he heard a faint sound behind him. The gate had not squeaked; Bodie must have vaulted over it.

One shoulder and the heel of a booted foot propped against the still warm brickwork, Doyle stared at the man standing at the bottom of the steps, watching him. Tension ricocheted from nerve-end to nerve-end, anticipation - and apprehension - pulsing with each beat of his blood. Not that he let either emotion show, every barrier in place as he saw his partner's mouth compress, Bodie unimpressed by this unsubtle display of his wares.

Abruptly unfolding his crossed arms, Doyle straightened, a defeated slump to his shoulders now. What the hell was he doing? If Bodie hadn't checked on the externals before now he was never going to. He had obviously misread Bodie's signals or something.

'I followed you home,' offered Bodie, unnecessarily in the circumstances.

Only then did Doyle realise that while the appraising gaze had not missed a thing, Bodie was not as confident as he wanted to appear.

'You took your time,' Doyle observed. 'It's not like you to have a problem keeping up with me.' His skin prickled with an acute awareness of his own body when Bodie smiled. It wasn't a reassuring smile, but it excited the hell out of him.

'And I haven't started to now. Some things are best savoured,' returned Bodie, indulgent because he knew he was finally going to get what he had wanted for so long. Maybe not in the way he most wanted it but anything was better than nothing.

Looking down from his rare advantage of height, Doyle made no attempt to reply as he allowed his gaze to wander. Only Bodie would wear a polo neck in the humidity of August; charcoal against the grape-black clouded sky, his hands relaxed at his sides, there was a daunting assurance to Bodie's smile where light from the porch lit his upturned face. Doyle experienced a slither of doubt. This wasn't what he had intended - or hoped for. Equally, he was not prepared to risk rejection by vocalising his need.

'There's no rush,' he agreed, giving them both a face-saving way out of this. Then Bodie smiled.

'I'll have to see if I can't change your mind about that.' Flowing up the steps, Bodie placed a proprietorial hand on Doyle's chest as he slid them both inside the building.

The vaulting entrance hall was deserted; a cool sound-box of stone, it smelt musty and faintly of damp. It was unfurnished except for a decrepit table which still held some envelopes - circulars, by the look of them - and a surprisingly elegant staircase designed to be swept down in style.

Shoulder to shoulder, they took the three flights of stairs two steps at a time. The key already in Doyle's hand, the door to his top-floor flat was opened without delay. Neither man moved or reacted for what seemed like a very long time.

'You'd better come in,' said Doyle at last. His unblinking eyes never leaving Bodie's face, he heeled the heavy sprung door shut behind them. He might lose the advantage, but not, he decided, in his own home; particularly not with Bodie. One hand curling in the fine silk knit of Bodie's sweater, Doyle hooked him close.

Confused as to who was the predator and who the quarry, Bodie evaded Doyle's mouth. A gasp escaped him when a palm learnt the contours of his constricted sex. It was then that Bodie set out to assert his mastery.

Leaving his own body unprotected, Doyle took Bodie's face in a two-handed grasp whose pressure forced Bodie to meet a stare which threatened to devour him.

'You can do what you want with me,' Doyle him, a disturbing clarity to that quiet announcement. 'But, by christ, you'll acknowledge it's me you're doing it with. There are no nameless fucks to be had here. And if I want to kiss you, you'll put up with it.'

The thumbs exerting a punishing degree of pressure beneath Bodie's cheekbones relaxed, one sliding down to caress the corner of his mouth. 'Who knows,' continued Doyle with a crooked, irresistible grin, 'you might even enjoy it.'

Before Bodie could disabuse him of that idea, Doyle's mouth was on his. Shockingly gentle at first, there was nothing tentative in the assured skill with which Doyle mounted his assault.

His game plan in ruins, Bodie made a muffled sound deep in his throat and yanked Doyle even closer. The press of muscled flesh grinding against him unleashed a ravening hunger.

It had been a long, long time: a lifetime. But for good fortune they might never have had this chance; like Peter Trevors one of them could be in mourning.

Consumed by the same fire, they fed on each other. Teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance, their hands made an ungentle reconnaissance of half-known territory, abruptly urgent to discover everything.

The taste of brandy, Doyle and blood in his mouth, his darkened eyes blank and brilliant with lust, Bodie unleashed every restraint. It seemed his only hope if he was to survive this unscathed.

Buttons bounced to the floor around them. Too- tight trousers caused a short, tense period of frustration before an ankle boot flew through the air after it was heeled off and kicked free.

Exulting in their power, they held none of it back; fingers welted skin instead of grazing over it. Moving from door to wall to floor, they wrestled and thrust and ground against each other, their mouths still locked together as they battled their way to a climax as fast and all-consuming as a flash fire. Grunting and slick with sweat, from the intensity on their faces they could have been fighting for their lives.

In a way that was true.

Spent too soon and so tightly entwined that they seemed knotted together, they were quiet for a moment before they disentangled and rolled apart, needing distance where seconds before they had tried to climb into each other's skin. Passion spent, the illusion of closeness fled.

 

Sprawled on his back, one leg bent and a forearm protecting his eyes from the light directly above him, Bodie waited for the storm to pass. His body smarted in a dozen places, his lips were bruised and his scrotum felt tender. He wouldn't have changed a thing, except perhaps his staying power. Best of all was the knowledge that it had been Doyle with whom he had battled. If there had been no winner, there had been no loser either.

Bodie had never thought to seek equality in a lover before, whatever their gender, and so had never found it. Until now.

When his fingers had locked over the muscled pad of Doyle's sweetly resilient rump, there had been only a glorious sense of rightness when Doyle's cock had blindly prodded him, or when he had felt the weight of Doyle's balls heavy in his hand. His anus burned where a sweating finger had stabbed home. And he had welcomed it, opening himself for whatever Doyle had planned. He would have done anything, given or taken anything in order to prolong the astonishing, fleeting sense of completion. It had been an illusion of course; it had to be.

The intensity of his need terrified Bodie because at no point had he lost his sense of who it was he fought, or who it was pillaging him in turn. Win or lose, the result was the same.

It broke every rule he had lived by.

He did not want to start to think what it might have done for Doyle - or would do once Ray had recovered enough to start dissecting this new experience to death.

Abruptly remembering the expert invasion of his body, Bodie tensed. Maybe not so new for Ray.

The thought nagged and refused to go away. Doyle with another man was the last thing he wanted to think about. He had expected to be the first man in Doyle's life; he certainly intended to be the last - the only - man.

Shit, he thought, appalled by the direction his thoughts were taking. Had taken.

This wasn't how he had thought it would be. How he had wanted it to be with Ray.

Reminding himself not to go looking for trouble, Bodie pushed himself to his feet. Without a word or glance at the silent man still sprawled on the floor, he began to collect up and pull on his scattered clothing. His cords fastened and his sweater in place, he glanced down; he found himself under an unblinking surveillance. His glare dared Doyle to say a word.

The warning had its usual effect.

'You can stay if you want.' Doyle's offer held all the emotional involvement of a Harrods shop assistant during the New Year sales.

'No. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow,' added Bodie, outwardly cool and inwardly seething at what he took for condescension. Defiantly casual as he turned to leave, he pretended not to notice his briefs in the corner where he had tossed them away.

'Wednesday. Cowley gave us five days off, remember.'

Yet to get up from the floor, Doyle was leaning against the wall, his forearm propped on an upraised knee. If he felt at a disadvantage naked it was not apparent.

Sensitive to the mockery he thought he detected, Bodie's scowl intensified. 'Wednesday, then. I'll pick you up.' Five days: a lifetime.

'I'll look forward to it,' said Doyle ironically.

He spoke to himself, the front door already closing behind Bodie. A metallic clink followed by a small thud announced that his bunch of keys had just been posted through his letter box.

Slack, thought Doyle absently, his neck bowing as if fatigue had caught up with him.

A few minutes later he got up to set the security locks. One way and another locking himself in had become something of a habit. In the circumstances that was just as well. It looked as if he was going to have to get used to it and he didn't know how he was going to bear the loneliness. He would, of course; human beings got used to most things. In time Pete Trevors would get over losing Judy.

Pulling on and fastening his trousers, Doyle dragged on his crumpled white shirt; having lost most of its buttons, it remained hanging open. His face expressionless, he hunkered down to pick up the scattered circles of white; then he collected his briefs, jacket, socks and ankle boots, putting everything away as if the scene in the hall had never taken place.

While he was smeared with grime and semen, he was reluctant to wash Bodie from his body; their mingled scents and secretions gave the illusion of intimacy.

Sore spots beginning to smart, Doyle wandered aimlessly into his humid living room. Opening all the windows, although he knew it would not help, he rested his forehead against the cool centre pane of glass. As the night pressed in on him, he closed his eyes on a wave of depression.

It had been a mistake. He had known it would be. At the time it had seemed worth the price.

The shrill of his doorbell shot his head round, eyes wide, before all expression smoothed away. Experience had taught him not to expect too much.

His feet still bare, Doyle padded down the hallway. He paused when he saw the light catch a button he had not noticed until now. Pausing, he bent to scoop it up and tucked it into a pocket, delaying the moment when he must open the door. With a sense of inevitability he found Bodie standing outside.

'Ray, I - Are you all right?'

The rigid muscles in Doyle's face began to relax. 'Compared to what? I'm OK,' he added in more of his usual tone.

Standing back, he gestured for Bodie to enter, then closed the door and reset the security locks, giving the mundane details his entire attention because once they were done he would have to face his partner again.

'I couldn't leave things like this,' said Bodie awkwardly. His hands punched deep in the pockets of his jacket, his weight shifted from foot to foot.

'No.' Heading down the hall, trying not to let his awareness of the man behind him make him self-conscious, Doyle went into the living room and poured them both a drink.

Taking his with a nod of thanks, Bodie's eyes never left his partner's face. 'You look knackered.' Regret tinged his voice.

'I'm not surprised. It's almost four in the morning. I shouldn't have brought Annabel to the party, I know,' Doyle mumbled. 'I just couldn't face going without some company.'

'I presumed as much,' acknowledged Bodie, sinking onto the comfortable sofa and stretching out his legs. 'Wish I'd thought of it myself. I took a hip flask.' His wry expression invited his partner to share the joke before he set his untouched drink on the floor.

'Would you rather have tea?' asked Doyle abruptly.

Looking up, Bodie gave a sharp nod, half-expecting ridicule.

'I could murder one myself.' With that prosaic announcement Doyle took them further down the road to normal relations.

Five minutes later he and Bodie sat at the kitchen table, both munching marmalade sandwiches and drinking their tea.

'Did the party put you off your food, too?' asked Doyle, as he licked his sticky fingers.

'Even me,' Bodie acknowledged, before he buried his nose in the mug. Tea finished, he sat back, his forearms still resting on the table top. 'Earlier yesterday evening, I almost gave you a ring. But we couldn't turn up together. Not in the circumstances.'

'No,' agreed Doyle. 'We can't be the only team to feel a bit sensitive on the subject. Lucas and McCabe didn't go near each other all evening either. Nor - '

'No need to list all the partnerships, sunshine.'

There were a number of unwritten rules in CI5 for those who were teamed. You didn't take your quarrels to work. You backed your partner at all times - if they deserved it. And if a member of one teaming was killed, other partnerships did not flaunt their happy state in the face of the survivor. A dispassionate observer would have noticed the eddies and shifts which always took place amongst squad members after a death of one of their own; the death of an agent who had a partner caused even more ripples. No partnership remained unscathed; some did not survive the increased stress, while it could be the making of others.

Bodie exhaled noisily and avoided his partner's gaze. 'At the party. All the time I was listening to what was going on around me I kept thinking, that could be me. I could have been left like Peter was left. Bad enough to lose a partner but he lost a lover, too. Only they never plucked up the nerve to tell one another. Jesus, Ray.' His hand stretched across the table top to take and hold Doyle's. 'That hit too close to home. I couldn't bear to wait for you any longer and I couldn't find the guts to ask. So I snatched. What happened to Pete and Judy. That could have been us.'

'I bloody know that!'

Stark with muscle, Doyle's face was all eyes. Bodie had ruthlessly stripped away the denial every partnership in the squad had been maintaining since the day Peter Trevors had screamed out his partner's name as her life-blood pumped over his hands. Since then Trevors's smile had never been an adequate camouflage for the agony of amputation.

It had only been just over seven weeks, of course. Time healed. Life would go on and it was right that it should. Everyone had to face the grief of loss at some time in their lives; some people had to face it over and over again.

Suddenly cold, Doyle shivered. If it was a test of character, it was one he didn't want to have to face. Not yet. Not for another forty or fifty years in fact. And then unwillingly. It might be immaturity boggling at the face of grim reality but what was so great about reality?

That said, if the only way to avoid loss was to shun any kind of emotional connection with another human being he would have to accept the pain. There was no way out of it. Besides, it wasn't all bad news.

'Do you have fantasies?' he asked, abrupt because he was locked in his own train of thought.

Looking vaguely interested at the change of subject, Bodie lifted his head. 'What, like shagging all of Charlie's Angels, d'you mean?'

Doyle gave a reluctant grin. 'Not exactly. I was thinking of one that lasts longer than the time it takes to have a wank.'

'I've been thinking of you while I do that. I've been doing it for quite some time,' Bodie added, encouraged by his partner's expression. Tension began to drain from him. 'What was it you wanted to know?' he asked.

'Other fantasies,' prompted Doyle.

'Right. I dreamt of playing for Liverpool when I was a kid,' Bodie offered, wary of opening himself to the can-opener of Doyle's sarcastic tongue.

'You still do.' His tone tolerant, Doyle's eyes smiled at him.

'True, only now I know it's fantasy. I really believed I was in with a chance when I was seven.'

'It was playing for Derby with me. And having a Dad, of course. I used to go to sleep working out how I could rescue Mum from some kind of danger so she'd be proud of me - or at least so that she would stay home for long enough to notice me.'

From the lack of emotion in Doyle's matter of fact tone he might have been reciting a shopping list rather than offering details kept even from Kate Ross - or so he believed. 'The foster homes killed off the fantasy life for a while. Till I discovered sex. Then I spent my life thinking about girls - and the occasional boy. But the fantasy that lasted the longest - almost ten years, in fact - was that I was an artist. A proper one, I mean. Technically I was competent but - ' While Doyle shrugged, it was clear that some of the pain from that disappointment had yet to fade. 'I dreamt of being as innovative as Picasso - only better, you know? Somewhere along the line I stopped being able to fantasise much.' Shadows had replaced the smile in his eyes.

Bodie was afraid to breathe. In under five minutes Doyle had revealed more of himself than in the three years they had been teamed.

'I've still got one fantasy. About us. Only I held off trying to make it real because I was afraid of buggering up the partnership.' The hint of tension in Bodie's voice was proof of how nervous he was.

Doyle looked up. 'What changed your mind?'

'The party tonight. Felt so lonely I wanted to die. Then you turned up and while you didn't even look in my direction I wasn't lonely any more. Corny, but I can't help that. It's true. And I wanted you so much. All I could think about was that if I didn't do something I'd never know if you felt the same way.'

'You always were thick,' remarked Doyle, and while the tone of voice was unloverlike the expression in his eyes was not.

'Silver tongue. The sex earlier was fantastic but I always hoped our first time would be a bit special.' Realising he still held Doyle's hand, Bodie slackened his grasp and released it.

Long fingers tightened around his own, refusing to let go. 'It was special. Not particularly romantic, mind, but there's a time and a place for everything. We're the lucky ones, we've got the time.'

'For whatever you want, for however long you want it,' confirmed Bodie steadily.

'I don't want to lose you,' Doyle announced baldly.

Bodie eyed him warily. 'You mean like Peter lost Judy?'

Doyle visibly flinched at the reminder. 'That, too. There's not anything we can do when we're on the job to look after each other that we don't do now. The thing is, if we'd held off admitting - Bad enough to lose it all. Worse to have held back just because we were afraid of being hurt.'

'Then what do we do - try and talk things through?'

'What, one of our in-depth chats about the meaning of life, Arsenal's chances for the Cup and the new bar maid's tits?' asked Doyle; his tone mocked them both.

Bodie visibly relaxed back in his chair. 'You can stop grinning at me like that. I was trying.'

'No change there then.'

'To be supportive, you ungrateful little bastard,' protested Bodie, laughing.

'Makes you sound like a truss. The way I see it, there isn't much else that needs to be decided.'

'Just joining up the dots really,' Bodie agreed.

'We'll go with the motto of your old mob then. Stick two fingers up at the Fates and go for it. Hearts and flowers. Happy endings. The whole nine yards.'

'The timing's good,' Bodie allowed. His nonchalant tone fooled neither of them, negated as it was by the fact he was brushing his mouth to the back of Doyle's hand, which he still held.

Doyle looked puzzled. 'It is?'

'The Old Man's just given us a five-day break. Let's turn it into a honeymoon - but without the nauseating bits. Though we could have a cake. I'm quite partial to fruit cake - and I love marzipan.' Bodie's expression became distinctly wistful.

'Far be it for me to complain, but aren't you getting off the point?' inquired Doyle with a touch of acid. 'Or is marzipan the greater lure?'

Bodie thought about it for as long as he dared. 'It's close but you win by - what is it? - six inches?'

'Enough to keep you satisfied,' Doyle promised, confident enough not to need to rise to the bait. 'You're on. We go on honeymoon - but without the sentimental bits,' he added pointedly.

'All right. You can have some if you want,' sighed Bodie, unnerved by his companion's unblinking regard.

Doyle gave a slow, singularly sweet smile. 'You're the romantic one. And I don't need wooing. Still, I expect I could play hard to get for five minutes or so.'

'I'll have to see if I can't do something about that. Cowley.'

Doyle looked edgy. 'What does he have to do with anything?'

'Do we tell him about us before we leave or after we get back?'

Doyle looked pensive. 'After,' he decided. 'In case he brings on Brewer's Droop.'

'Don't you worry about that. I'll see you right.'

'It wasn't me I was worried about,' Doyle assured him. Anticipating with ease the swipe aimed in his direction, he straightened from his dodge. His smile became fixed, then faded as he was ambushed by a heady, if confusing, mix of emotions.

'I _do_ love you, you know.'

Bodie blinked and looked endearingly shy. Bravado dropping away, his gaze was as dark and soft as velvet pile. 'I am awake, aren't I? I mean, I'm not going to wake up and find it's just a dream again.'

'No dream,' Doyle promised. 'Let's go to bed,' he added huskily.

Bodie nodded, then looked up, direct and honest as only he could be when it was important enough. 'Lovely. Though it'll just be for a cuddle. I've shot my bolt this morning. I'm knackered.'

Their only concession to cleanliness a quick brushing of teeth, they were soon in bed, close but not touching because it was still uncomfortably humid.

Bodie gave the head on the pillow next to him a look of contentment. 'Another thing I used to fantasise about was waking up in the morning to find you next to me in bed, all warm and - '

Doyle's kiss was delicate as a snowflake.

 

***

 

'So where are we going to spend our honeymoon then?' demanded Bodie, his elbow draped on Doyle's upraised knee. 'Though that diving course all but cleaned me out till pay day - '

'Not to mention that poker game last week. You choose, I'll pay.' Leaning against banked pillows with Bodie propped against him, one arm hung down over Bodie's shoulder while with the other Doyle held and sipped from a mug of tea.

'Now I know it must be love,' said Bodie. His cropped hair sticking up in unruly tufts, the violet shadows under his eyes toning with his dark beard shadow, he was patently only half awake.

'I didn't know you suffered from short-term memory loss. Anywhere you like.'

'Anywhere?'

Bodie's right nipple received a firm pinch, causing him to slop luke-warm tea in his lap.

'I'll lick that off later,' promised Doyle in the richly satisfied tone of one who knew he had time on his side. 'Anywhere, you disbelieving bastard. We need some - what's that buzzword Kate Ross comes out with? Quality time, that's it. We need some quality time to set us on the primrose path.'

'Couldn't be anything else with you and me. And it's two words.'

Doyle nipped the pink, plump ear lobe closest to him. 'Clever dick.'

Bodie peered at his tea-sticky cock. 'I've always thought so - though conversation isn't his strong point. D'you mind spluttering down my ear like that, you're giving me goose bumps. With only four and a bit days there's no point planning a trip to Fiji - though we'll get there one day. Something I always fancied doing but never got round to was getting out a map of Britain and a pin and picking a spot at random. Wherever it lands, we go there.'

'What if it's Buckingham Palace? Or Strangeways? Though from what I've heard about the Palace, Strangeways might be preferable.'

'Pick, pick, pick,' groused Bodie contentedly. 'We go where the pin lands - unless it's somewhere obviously out of the question like Windscale.'

'You don't fancy the nuclear glow?'

'Prefer the one you give me. Have you got a map?'

'You mean I've got to move? All right, all right. I can take a hint. Cornwall would be good.'

One biological research station, one army base and the middle of the Wash later they had more success, the point of the pin landing fair and square in the centre of the orange blob which signified London.

'Well, at least it's land.' Bodie did his best to sound resigned rather than relieved, having thought his luck was bound to fail and that they would be lumbered with making an unwanted trip to the Brecon Beacons.

'And we don't even need to leave the flat,' gloated Doyle with open glee. 'It'll save us getting caught in Bank Holiday traffic. Besides, I don't know about you, but apart from the odd pee break and meal, I'll be quite happy to spend it all in bed.'

'We'll never last the course.'

'Is that a challenge?' inquired Doyle, perking up despite having had so little sleep.

'Maybe. We'll see. Probably. OK, we may as well,' Bodie conceded, without having drawn breath between sentences.

'Well, I had to work hard to talk you into that one, didn't I. Finished your tea? Good. Back to bed then.'

Bodie looked shocked. 'Now?'

'What's wrong with now?'

'It's daylight. I never have sex in the daylight.'

It took a good fifteen seconds before Doyle realised he'd been had. 'Why you - '

Skidding round the kitchen table, Bodie took off through the living room. A flying tackle brought him down across the mattress after he had helpfully headed into the bedroom.

'I know why you're so keen on us staying in - it's cheap,' said Bodie, brave considering his poor defensive position.

The weight and warmth pinning him sweatily to the mattress lifted, then vanished altogether. Mildly concerned, Bodie turned. 'Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say.'

'Blimey,' said Doyle, impressed. 'You must have it bad.'

'Bastard. Thought you might have taken me seriously.'

'Living in hope?' inquired Doyle kindly, nudging away the hand which had been about to explore him. 'No, keep your hands to yourself for a moment.'

'What are you thinking about?' Recognising his companion's expression, Bodie's tone was wary.

'Getting my revenge.'

Bodie brightened immediately. 'Anything I can help with?'

'No question about it.'

'Then you can do anything you like.'

'Now there's a rash promise,' said Doyle, his voice roughened by a rush of emotion before he kissed the other man.

'Hope you're not getting side-tracked,' remarked Bodie, when his mouth was his own again.

'You keep distracting me,' explained Doyle.

'I might have known it would be my fault.'

'You'd think.'

'So what have you got planned?' inquired Bodie.

'Wait and see,' said Doyle, kneeling beside him. 'While you're at it, turn over. I don't want you to move or make a sound, all right?'

Turning his head, Bodie met the mischievous anticipation on his partner's face and knew he had been right to suspect the worst. 'Has anyone ever told you that you're basically a rotten human being?'

'Only you, about once a week. Do we have a deal?'

Bodie nuzzled the palm of the hand extended to him. 'We have a deal. Only I don't know if I'll be able to keep my part of it,' he admitted, curving one leg slightly as he made himself comfortable.

Dumb with lust, Doyle stared at the powerful lines of his partner's back, allowing the anticipation to grow. Bodie's skin seemed to have an almost nascent glow, muscles sliding easily just beneath that wonderful skin. His gaze lingered over the swell of the muscular buttocks and the intriguing shadowy cleft, the partially visible scrotum and strong thighs. Unable to stop himself, he reached out, his fingertips drifting over a couple of the bruises they had acquired while making love the previous day.

A trail of goose bumps rippled down Bodie's back from nothing more than the touch of Doyle's hand cupping his neck. Taking his time, Doyle stroked downwards; Bodie shivered with anticipation.

'I can promise you won't be able to keep your side of the bargain,' whispered Doyle, leaning over Bodie so that his hair tickled the other man's shoulders. 'But I'm going to enjoy watching you struggle.'

While Bodie did not know exactly what Doyle had planned for him, he was already in trouble. He stifled pleasured moans in the pillow as expert hands began to massage his rump, drawing the cheeks apart just enough to increase his awareness of his anus. Then Doyle bent, his mouth exploring him in intimate detail. Bodie's twitching toes and the bunching of his shoulder muscles betrayed the effort he was making not to move. Clutching the pillow, he began to mumble incoherencies into it.

A gentle hand gave his bottom a soothing pat.

'No self-control, that's your trouble,' chided Doyle in a caressing voice.

Taking that for permission of sorts, Bodie tucked his knees up under him the better to present himself. A moan of sheer pleasure escaped him as his tightening testicles received a moist-mouthed nuzzling before a hand encircled the arching flare of his penis.

Breathing hard, Bodie murmured an inarticulate plea.

Warm breath tickled Bodie's rump before Doyle's tongue stabbed wetly into the cleft of his backside, to be followed by something cold and silky, slippery as it slid down him.

'Please. Please, Ray. That hurt!' yelped Bodie, his head whipping round with shock after the centre of his left buttock received a sharp nip from teeth that were careful not to break the skin.

A wet tongue had begun to lick the smart almost before he had finished complaining. Then a thumb massaged the area, increasing the small pain and sending shivers of pleasure down to his toes.

'Are you sure it hurt? The truth, mind,' instructed Doyle, cupping the area, which had turned a bright pink. His breathing was audible in the silence.

A caress to his testicles from a lubricant-slick hand stole Bodie's breath away just when he had begun to compose himself.

'N-not h-hurt exactly,' he stuttered, his mouth feeling full of tongue. Flexing his gluteal muscles, he became aware of a delicious tingle all the way from the small of his spine to his toes.

'That's what I thought. Time to turn the other cheek.'

'R-ray, I'll come if you - ' Bodie's panicked warning turned into a lingering, breathy groan as he was intimately nuzzled again before teeth closed slowly over his right buttock, nipping harder this time.

The smart shot straight to his groin, stealing away breath and coherent thought. Offering what help he could, he felt himself being turned without ceremony. He found the breath for a lusty yell when Doyle's mouth engulfed the straining head of his cock, sinking deeper and deeper with devastating effect for Doyle as his gag reflex was triggered. Helpless to stop himself Bodie came over Doyle's bowed head. Slumping, he slowly released his death-grip on the other man's shoulder, having needed some anchor to reality.

His eyes and nose running, semen dripping from a plump curl, Doyle gave a groan of mock anguish.

'Ray, I never meant to - '

'Silly sod. It wasn't your fault. Thought I could handle it,' he said wryly, before he crawled into the arms opened to welcome him.

'That's in character. My bum's still tingling,' Bodie added accusingly.

'All's fair in love and what's-it.' Doyle paused to wipe his face on the sheet before kissing Bodie. 'I'll need more practice to get that right.'

'Any more right and I might die. All the self-control of a kid.'

'It's all right, I was expecting that,' Doyle assured him.

Bodie pushed him away then drew him back into an exuberant hug. 'What about you?' His mouth softened when his searching hand settled over a lax stickiness. 'Oh. Well, just so long as you had a good time, too. But don't think I'll forget how sneaky you were,' he warned darkly.

'I won't,' promised Doyle in between licks of the salt-sweet flesh of Bodie's throat. 'I'll be happy to turn the other cheek any time you want.' He fingered the line of dark fuzz which grew between navel and the luxuriance of hair at the groin.

'Maybe after we've ‘ad a kip,' mumbled Bodie, his mouth not yet under his complete control. 'Ray?'

'Mmn?'

'Nothing, I just wanted to hear myself say your name,' said Bodie with contentment, his eyes sinking to a close.

Viewing him with untypical indulgence, Doyle shook his head.

'I saw that,' remarked Bodie without opening his eyes. 'And I don't know what you think you've got to be superior about. You haven't seen the soppy grin you're wearing.'

'Bodie,' murmured Doyle, as if testing the sound before he turned his face into the hollow of his partner's throat and fell asleep.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Written 20th March 1996
> 
>  
> 
> Published in _Alter Egos 1_
> 
> Reprinted in _HG Collected 2_


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